


Feels Like Nothing

by allmystars



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Universe, Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Loves Castiel, Depressed Castiel (Supernatural), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Holding Hands, Hopeful Ending, Human Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, Supportive Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:15:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26163244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allmystars/pseuds/allmystars
Summary: Newly Human Castiel feels the weight of human existence for the first time.Dean is there to get him through.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 1
Kudos: 71





	Feels Like Nothing

**Author's Note:**

> I feel super unmotivated today so here's this quick thing I wrote instead of a new POMH chapter. I was going to make this sad but I don't think any of us need that right now, so here's some Dean/Cas being supportive, I guess.
> 
> Let me know what you think!

“Hey, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean.”

Castiel doesn’t bother looking for him, choosing instead to keep his eyes rooted to the bland, grey sky as a cool breeze tickles his nose, smelling like decay—like autumn and the end.

“What’re you doin’?” Dean’s face appears above him, blocking out some of the pale light from the sun hidden behind the clouds, but he doesn’t mind. Dean, as always, is far nicer to look at, even as pinch-faced and concerned as he is now.

“Nothing.” Well, technically not _nothing_. He’s breathing, and staring, and lying in the grass, but other than that, he can’t really say he’s accomplishing much.

The breeze picks up, cutting through the thin hoodie and t-shirt he’s been wearing for days, and he shivers. He doesn’t get up, though, finding a morbid, masochistic pleasure in the way his body fights his discomfort.

“Yeah, I can see that,” Dean huffs, lifting his hands before letting them slap at his sides. “But, why?”

That’s the question, isn’t it? _Why_ isn’t he doing anything? Why doesn’t he _feel_ like doing anything? He’s not overly tired, and he’s not all that hungry, and he really, _really_ doesn’t want to get up, but _why_?

He shrugs, as plain and simple as that. “I don’t want to do anything.”

Dean parses that as Castiel watches, letting his eyes wander as they wish, over his freckled cheeks, his long lashes that frame the most beautiful eyes he’s ever seen, to his dark hair, messy and wet from his shower. He makes a slow perusal over Dean’s broad shoulders, clothed in layers of leather and plaid, down over his hips and bowed legs, right to his old, scuffed boots.

Dean’s pretty, sure, but he doesn’t even have the energy to fully appreciate _that_. What a shame.

“Okay,” Dean says with a shrug, dropping down beside Castiel to lie in the damp, late summer grass. As dry and itchy as it is, Castiel’s surprised it’s still mostly green. “You sure you’re okay?”

He thinks about that for a moment, and he’s not really sure, if he’s honest. It’s storm season, and the weight of the world's problems press down on his chest, but this is nice. This feels good.

Castiel turns his head to meet Dean’s gaze, and he can’t help but smile at the way Dean’s freckles seem to multiply every time he looks at him. He’s lived through the birth and death of galaxies, seen stars explode and collapse, but nothing quite compares to the life and love he sees shining in Dean’s eyes every time he looks at him.

“I’ll be fine,” he tells him, and he will be. Even with his grace gone and his wings in tatters—with every angel on Earth hunting him down—he knows he’ll be alright with Dean here. He’ll be fine as long as he has his family.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” There’s nothing to be done about it, and talking would just make him sad. Besides, he knows Dean’s not one for feelings, and Castiel just has so _many_ now that he’s human.

“Okay,” Dean says again, though it’s quieter this time, and he turns back to the milky sky.

Castiel can’t really explain it but, somehow, just having Dean here makes him feel better. The sickness in his stomach eases, and the ache behind his eyes subsides some. He, in no way, feels great—or even good, for that matter—but he’s better.

He closes his eyes to the sky, takes a deep breath, and in the few seconds before he exhales, he feels warm, strong fingers wrap around his. They tangle in the dirt and grass, pulling it up by the roots, but Castiel doesn’t care. He doesn’t—God, he _doesn’t_ —because, for the first time in _weeks_ , he feels something that isn’t helpless.

It starts in his fingertips, working its way up through his stomach—setting off thousands of butterflies—before finally settling in his heart when he turns his head to meet Dean’s eyes. He sees it there, too, in the green depths of Dean’s gaze.

He sees it, and he feels it, and he knows that it’s love.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on Twitter at [allmystars_AO3](https://twitter.com/allmystars_AO3)  
> ~  
> Follow me on Tumblr at [allmystars-i](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/allmystars-i)  
> ~  
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